The Devils Demands
by Condemned Nightingale
Summary: Caught up in Matthew Murdock's secret life as the Daredevil, Claire plays nurse, patching him up each time he falls, but who will be there to put all her pieces back together when she is the one to fall apart? Its time to take the next step in their relationship and see how its a necessary element of the healing process. Their need for each other is strong in multiple ways.
1. Shattered Remains

_This story is told from the point of view of Claire, the initially nurse friend of Matthew Murdock. All characters and rights remain with Marvel, this is just a fantasy story created for entertainment._

Perched on the corner of my bed, I leaned over, rubbing the palms of my hands into my eyes in hope to erase the images that flash every time I closed them. Like a permanent projector replaying the previous night's event. I can hear Matt's scream of agony that no man should even be capable of making. The colors blur, flashes of white and yellow light streaming past from when I ran as fast as I could to find him before it was too late. The red, infecting everything it touched; his body, the ground, my hands as they attempted to stop the gush out of his chest, my clothes from sitting in the pool that had started to form underneath us, a final life raft ready to take off whether or not we had made it aboard.

I shake my head and lifted it, scanning the room for the hundredth time for any sign of refuge from these nightmares that are sure to haunt me for a very long time to come. The peeling, ash-colored walls of my room shroud the room in a damp mood, reflecting the reality of life as I have come to know here in Hell's Kitchen. I used to have decorations in my flat, like a painting of Central Park that hung above my bed, and a fern in the corner, but that was when I still believed that life in a place like this was possible. That was before I had realized nothing but the crude truth of life can exist in this place, in my life. It truly had become a literal Hell.

The air is stale as I take a rattled breath. I can smell mildew and mold in the floor boards and just realize I am cold as I feel each hair on my arm start to stand on end, one after the other, but I make no attempt to move yet. Not yet. If only I can have one moment of peace, of silence. My head is buzzing now, the gurgling noise, I start to recall again, of Matt on the floor as I had leaned over his spazing body watching as he struggled to breath. My sobs interrupting my demands as I screamed at him to stick with me, sirens wailing in the background like an unsatisfiable baby.

My breath hitches for a second as I snapped my eyes open once more, not realizing they had closed. I haven't slept properly for a week now because of everything going on lately. I know that I had promised Matt that I would always be there to patch him up, but I never thought that it would take more out of me than just my skill and time. It had taken ever availability within my. My emotional, physical and mental real-estate had all been checked out, like a book from a library, used again and again until my spine is being held together by mere threads after going through so much wear and tear.

My heart aches, for Matt, for myself, for my life before all the madness started. Dropping my arms by my sides I stand up slowly and turn towards the door. Every extremity feeling like a cooked noodle, weak and uncontrollable. I'm surprised enough already at my ability to stand, but I don't really believe there is any way to recover from this. Sure I've nursed people through trauma before, but I have never had the hands on experience myself. This was something new.

Next thing I know I'm in my kitchen with a near empty bottle of vodka in one hand, and a glass half full in the other. I shake my head. Glancing to the side, I can see the couch in my living room where I had first met Matt. I had had to patch him up after finding him in a dumpster half dead. That bleeding stranger, all that time ago, is even someone I knew better that the man I know today.

I chuckle to myself. It seems as if that was a lifetime ago, chasing drug cartels and the high and mighty Fisk. Back when a man with a lot of money to pay people to do his bidding was our biggest problem. Ours? No his. He dragged me into this. But I had let him.

Circling the couch now, I dragged one hand along the backrest remembering the day vividly. The day when one secret reveled started the whole domino effect of unanswerable questions. No, again, not my fault. He chose to cut me out. To drag me into this whole mess but leave me uninformed.

I collapsed onto the seat and took a large sip from my cup almost emptying it. It burns my throat like acid, but it's a great distraction. A distraction from the lies and secrets, and the real pain that he doesn't trust me, or believe in me enough, which is the whole reason he lost me, despite the fact that this was the last result I was hoping for.

A crashing noise outside my window wakes me from my stupor. Probably just some animal rummaging for scraps, but the image of trash brings me to my senses as I take a quick inventory of myself. My black hair is tangled and unruly from days of tossing around in bed but never taking the time to comb it. My over sized sweatshirt covers all the way to mid-thigh where I can see the stain on my jeans, peeking out slightly, from where I had spilled a beer and never bothered to change. I pinch the front of the pullover to take a sniff and recoil. Had I been living in this filth for that long? It seems like an eternity, but it had only been one night, one very, very long night. When I arrived home after doing as much as I could for him for the night, I had run home to try to escape it all. I had just stood in the shower for nearly an hour, scrubbing furiously at my skin, way past the time when I had removed all the blood that had caked there.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered that, despite all this unusual self-pitying, I still had a job to go do. He was not the only one that needed my help. What made him so different from all the other people that I tended to? What made him so special that at his beckoning call I always would drop anything, lie to anyone, and do anything just to help? Everything. Despite our previous mutual consent about how I should avoid falling for him, it was just too late. This was a wound that I did not know how to heal.

Shuffling up and over to the bathroom, I slowly stripped each layer and dragged myself into the shower. Time to start fresh.

Stepping out, with my towel still wrapped around me, I walked to my room and picked up my phone. _3 missed calls_. My first thoughts run towards Matthew as I feel my heart flutter ever so slightly. God dammit, why on earth did I have to fall for the one devil in my world? I unlock the screen to see Foggy had called twice followed by Karen. His work buddies from the normal side of his life. Is there a normal side to his life? I wonder if they know him any better than I do and if so, how do they deal with it?

I maneuvered myself to my closet and into my blue nurse's outfit, so clean in stark comparison to just a few minutes ago. Tossing my messenger bag over my shoulder, I grabbed my phone and keys from my bedside table and headed out the door. I'll call them back on the way to work.

As I started to lock my door, I hear large uneven steps behind me. The hair on the back of my neck raised as I tensed up. Counting down from three, I whirled around sharply. About mid-way down the hallway I spotted my neighbor, Mr. Jenson, heavily leaning on his door way, hands shaking as he was attempting to put his key in the lock on his door.

I never inquire, never give a second thought to anyone's business that doesn't involve me, but I couldn't help but notice a bruise starting to bloom underneath his right eye and a large gash on his bottom lip, matching the one on top of his cheekbone opposite of the bruise. The few strands of grey in his dark hair seem more pronounced as ever as if announcing to the world that he was an old, tired man, despite the fact that he was still in his forties. As I walk past, I can smell how he reeks of liquor, just as I had less than an hour ago. Now, a few feet from the elevator, I paused and took a slow breath. What's the point of being a nurse if you can't help those who need it?

Turning on my heel I called out, "Mr. Jenson, do you need any help?"

"Mrgh, ergh" is all that I got in response. Resigning any protest I started back towards him.

"I said" he mumbled louder, his words slurring heavily, "I don't need anything from you" shouting the last bit as he swung around. In the flickering corridor lights, the shadows encasing his body had seemed to cover most of the damage. Now getting a better look I could see that his coat is torn near the shoulder and his left leg seems to have an odd angle to it as he leaned his weight on the other. I saw his chest rising and falling as he breathed hard, his eyes swirling over my face, trying to focus.

"Mr. Jenson," I said again, more tentatively this time as I eased closer, walking a step every two seconds, "you are badly hurt, let me take a look. Were you in a bar fight…"

My words trailed off as I spotted a sliver of silver flash underneath his coat where his right hand was placed. I had assumed he had hurt his side and was clutching at it because of the pain, but the gun was now obvious. This had been no ordinary fight.

I faltered backwards, feeling for the elevator door, trying to get away without taking my eyes off the gun.

"Now" Mr. Jenson slurred, turning his shoulders towards me to show that I had his full attention, but still remained slumped against the door frame. "I couldn't possibly," he coughed suddenly and spit blood onto the floor. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he grinned a sickly grin. "You see now that I can't let you go. I've heard the rumors about you and your nosy little friend."

I gasped slightly. Did he mean Matt? Did he know that she had been aiding the Daredevil of Hell's Kitchen? His voice still thick, he continued, seeing the slight look of astonishment on my face that I had tried to hide but was not successful, "Yes, I know about your little friend in black, or is it red these days? I can never remember. Though the horns were a nice touch." He laughed softly to himself, seeming to find his wit amusing, probably due to the excessive amount of alcohol in his body.

I could see now that he had the gun pointed at me, but still half hidden in case an intruder just happened upon the scene. I raised my hands slowly, still trying to ease my way backwards towards the elevator, where I knew would be a stairway to the right that I could try to dash into and make a break for it. I would have a split second, but seeing as he was almost incapacitated it would be all I need.

"Please" I begged, trying to earn myself those last few precious seconds, "I don't want any trouble, I was just trying to help."

"Sorry, Claire" he almost sang, dragging out the last part of her name, "it's nothing personal, its just…"

At that moment we both heard the sound of shattering glass and a crash from, what appeared to be, inside his room. His head jerked slightly to the side, distracted for a moment, but that was all I needed. I whipped around and made the last two steps to the stairwell door. I had just started to barrel through it when I heard a bang, and an intense pain in my abdomen caused me to collapse just on the other side.

I drew in a sharp breath, my legs struggling to push me to the wall across from the door right above the first step. "Lousy shot" I muttered to myself, panting as I looked down to see a scarlet flower bloom right beneath the fresh hole in my jacket. I could hear crashing noises accompanied by shouts and curses.

I attempted to drag myself upright, but just hissed from the pain and slumped. "Come on Claire" I chided myself, "you know what to do to a gunshot patient." Closing my eyes to concentrate, the pain threatened to tow me under. I felt around my back for what I thought would be an exit wound but to my dismay discovered none. Shit. The idiot couldn't even shoot someone right, I thought to myself. Tilting my body back slightly to extend the wounded area, I leaned over to brace my hand and arm so that I could add pressure to the wound without needing much effort, which was a good thing seeing as my vision was already going hazy and I could feel my arms going limp. Guess I wasn't going to be able to do all the procedures necessary after all. I could only hope that someone in this building wanted to exercise and decides to take the stairs, instead of the elevator, and finds me before it's too late.

A second later, the door to the hallway flew open, my arm instinctively raised to protect my head. The last thing I heard was someone shouting my name, but it was too late, I slipped into unconsciousness as I felt strong arms fold beneath my limbs, lifting me off the ground.


	2. Role Reversal

_Ting, ting, ting._

My eyes fluttered open to the sound of someone stirring a drink. I saw him edge around my bed and come to a stop just below where my knees were. Prying my arm loose of the sheets, I attempted to sit up, but instantly got knocked down by a wave of nausea brought on by the pain in my gut.

I groaned and closed my eyes.

"Whoa there," I heard him whisper, "don't move. You of all people should know that."

I peeked through my eyelids to see his head down turned towards the steaming mug in his hands. The smell of coffee saturates the air. I am about to thank him, but then realize he probably did that on purpose to camouflage the sting of iron in the air, what with his super senses and all.

"Is that for me or what?" I croaked, opening my eyes once more to look down at him. I notice his cheekbones have become more pronounced lately, and the profile view I have from down here highlights his sexy stubble. His eyes are staring emptily in front, and a small pout has formed on his lips, his forehead slightly wrinkled up in concern. My heartbeat picked up the pace a bit as I struggled to keep it in check. I'm studying his eyes to see any indication if he has noticed.

The corner of his mouth quickly quirks up in a half-smile, but it's gone before I know it. He noticed. I can't hide anything from this guy.

"Of course" he sighed after a while, lifting the cup slightly in my direction, waiting for me to grab it, though I know he would be have been able to find my hands, perfectly well, on his own. "I couldn't remember if you liked milk or sugar, seeing as we have only really shared a few beers, so I left it black" he hurried to explain, tilting his head slightly so that his face was turned towards me, and his eyes pointed in my general direction.

"Black is perfect" I responded, carefully lifting the mug into hands.

I remembered back to when he had tried to explain how he saw the world. How, after such a long time, he told me he was not completely blind in all definitions of the term. That his view was that of a world on fire. I then became suddenly aware that I was out of my work clothes and in my pajamas, nicely tucked into my bed.

"Umm…" I started, "You changed me?"

"You were unconscious and bleeding, I had to do something" he stated so matter-of-factually, "I didn't think you would appreciate getting the rest of your apartment bloodied up as well, plus" he gestured to his eyes "not like I could see anything while I was doing it."

"Thanks, I guess" I mumbled. With everyone else in the world, I've been able to hold my ground and be who I am; Independent and strong, where rarely anything could and would phase me, but there was something about Matthew Murdock that just seemed to take down all my defenses. I sat down the untouched coffee on my bedside table, my eyes flitting anywhere but at him as I struggled to keep my vitals normal. With any other guy, this would be easy. Guys are normally oblivious to the obvious let alone the subtle, but with him, sometimes it felt as if he could see right through to my soul.

He bent over, placing one hand on the opposite side of my body. He looked straight at me, and I could feel myself slightly shaking.

"I'm so sorry" he murmured, "I'm so very sorry you got caught in the middle of that." His forehead is all wrinkled again. He looks so sincere, and I know he is. My eyes dart to his mouth, instinctively as he learns closer. His pink lips slightly parted as he sits there, probably trying to measure my reaction. The air between us feels charged, but maybe that's the iron in the air due to the blood soaked gauze wrapped around my torso.

I want so badly to just lean forward and kiss him. To feel his perfectly soft lips form to mine in that delicate sweetness that I had been able to experience once before. I guess he could feel the heat rise in my cheeks at the thought as he pushed back slightly and chuckled, shaking his head slowly back and forth. "You are one person I can't understand" he says.

"What do you mean?" I questioned, taking in his beauty that sadly he can't see for himself.

"You get caught in the middle of my quarrels" he responds "get shot even, and you aren't mad at me. You even want to kiss me?" He sounds incredulous, smirking all the while.

"So what?" I snapped, "You can read minds now? I know we crossed out the X-ray fingers abilities, but this seems a bit much."

A quick side wards glance at me tells me he is amused at my response, but I can detect a hint of relief that I hadn't denied it.

"Your breathing had picked up, your temperature rose slightly and your heartbeat, well…" he trailed off. "I feel like I would have made a pretty good med student" he jokes, finally getting up from where he had been sitting, "don't you think?"

I rolled my eyes at him, despite the fact that I know he can't see it. "You think you're cute?" I retorted as he walked to the door to my bedroom.

"Oh, I know I am." He returned, facing the door still, but I could tell he just has another one of those sly smirks on his face. "Get some rest now, I'll check on you in a few hours" he said as he turned the doorknob and pushed it open.

As he was stepping through, I quickly call his name.

"Matt…"

He paused, his hand still on the door with about an inch or two before it closed.

"Thank you."

"I think it's past my turn to take care of you Ms. Temple." He coolly replied. "Plus," he continued after a moment of silence, "I feel it would have been a bit weird to have anyone else change you, don't you think. At least this wasn't my first time to not see you undress." Closing the door then, I heard his footsteps fading away.

"Smart-ass" I called to the air.

My eyelids suddenly started drooping and I slumped down further into my bed, wincing. Maybe I'd be able to dream of something nice to help the pain go away. As they closed I heard Matt's voice once more, though I could't tell if it was actually him or some figment of my imagination. "Rest well." And with that I slipped back into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Blinking my eyes open, I saw the evening sun's rays dripping through my semi-shut shutters. My room was now bathed in a warm glow, reflecting the improved mood I was in after sleeping for what felt like an eternity. My whole body ached like it had been run over by a truck, but thankfully it was just a bullet.

Clutching my side, I tossed the blanket aside and threw my legs over the edge of the bed. Standing up shakily, I wobbled out to the kitchen to grab something to eat. My stomach grumbled like I hadn't eaten for days, which to tell the truth, could _be_ the truth for all I could tell.

Flipping the fridge door open I ended up diving for a beer, seeing as I didn't feel in any shape well enough to hold down real food. Rummaging through my pantry next, I snatched up some saltine crackers and a jar of peanut butter with a knife to spread it.

Hobbling over to my couch, I plopped down and start to prepare the chef worthy meal. I've never owned a TV because I never have had enough time to actually watch it. I was either working or running errands, but mainly working. And even if I did stay home because I was sick, which didn't happen very often due to my strong immune system, side effect of being a nurse, I would end up resting, eating and sleeping to get better, then right back into work I would go. However thinking about it now, it would have made a great distraction for every now and then.

After eating a few of the make-shift saltine peanut butter sandwiches, I took a large swing of my beer and heard, "Hello there, feeling better already?"

I sputtered into the bottle and whipped around, regretting this reaction instantly as a sharp pain stabbed my side.

"Whoa there, take it easy. I've made you something more sustainable than crackers and peanut butter" Matt continued. Jeez that man was like a ghost. I hadn't heard him come in, or had he been there the whole time?

He walked over with a bowl of tortilla soup, filled to the brim with shredded chicken and a glass of what looked like to be iced tea. If he was trying to make the point that I needed more protein, I think I understood.

"How did you get in?" I inquired, cautiously switching out the dish before me with the offering in his hands. "I don't think I ever gave you a key, and seeing as what just happened in my hallway, I don't believe you would have left the door unlocked…"

"You are right" he affirmed, "That's why I spent the day….night, and day here. Just wanted to make sure there weren't any…" he paused, "repercussions to my actions."

I smiled and tilted my head back so that I could look into his beautiful, unseeing eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, a quizzical look appearing on his face.

I laughed, "You know, I sometimes forget you are blind by all the things you notice."

"Uh, huh, so why are you smiling exactly?"

"I was just thinking that you were right. You would have made an excellent med student"

He shot out a short, loud laugh. "Mhm, and why the change of heart so suddenly?"

"Well," I said, lifting the edge of my pj top and tracing my finger over the gauze, "You definitely did a fine job with the stitches. I don't even remember them happening." Lifting my eyes once more to look at his face, I was surprised to see a look of concern there.

"What's the matter?" I asked, as a feeling of worry washing over me.

"I've had plenty of practice through my years. Especially as a child." He stated, his face going blank.

I hesitated, remembering back to when he told me stories of his childhood from after the accident. How his dad, when he was still around, would come back from his boxing matches pretty torn up and would ask for Matt's help to patch up. So he really did have some hands-on experience, to the literal definition of hands on as he would have to feel his dad's body part for each stitch or patch.

He knelt abruptly, coming to rest where my eyes were in-line with the top of his head. His hand lifted then gently, like someone trying to touch an injured animal backed in a corner, afraid to scare it. I took it and guided it to my face to encourage him. His palm caressed my cheek as I closed my eyes and leaned into it. Sliding it down, his thumb and forefinger softly took my chin and guided it so that my face was only a few inches from his.

I opened my eyes and I could feel his warm breath on my face as he spoke calmly.

"I will always be here to pick you up, but if you want not to fall in the first place, as I need you not to, you should stay away from me. I'm dangerous."

"What's life without a bit of danger" I breathed back. When he didn't respond I continued, "I don't think you are dangerous, I believe you are the solution to what aids this city, and to what aids me."

"But that's just the thing," he protested, leaning his forehead against mine. "I can only bring you pain and torment. You are better off without me in your life. If I end up getting into more trouble I don't want to drag you into it. Let me live with my choices on my own. They should be no one else's burden."

I pulled back, breaking all our contact. Staring at him, I slowly shook my head, "that's assuming you live through whatever you do. And it's too late, I'm already in this. You should have thought of this before you opened _this_ thing between us." I gestured to the space between us. "The moment you first kissed me you made this about more than just yourself. So do the right thing and stop trying to cut me out. You don't have the right to decide these things for me. To tell me what is worth what pain. For heaven's sake, I took a bullet from your business and for no reason really, not even to protect anyone but rather from fleeing!" At this point my voice was getting haggard as I got exasperated. I know he could tell the emotions that had started to rage within me, boiling beneath the surface, better than even myself. The anger, the anguish, the love, and the loss of the past and the future.

I pushed to my feet, still with my arm wrapped around my midway, clutching my side. I hissed and he stood up, hands extended as if to offer comfort but I ignored him, turning and shuffling to the front door. I unlocked the door and opened it, turning to see him still standing in the same spot by the couch, as expressionless as a statue.

I gestured at him and then at the door, lowering my eyes as I couldn't bear to look at him. "You may leave now, thank you" I said curtly. For a moment, everything was silent and all I could hear was my heart, pounding in my chest. So this was how it was like? To hear someone's emotions in its purest form, no facade, just reactions. Well I hoped he could tell how raw my resentment for him at this moment was. After a few seconds he headed towards me, I side-stepped and he passed by, not looking back, just like he wanted I guessed.

Just more silence. I was sick of this tip-toeing around our feelings for each other anyways. I didn't need this trouble in my life, I just needed everything to go back to the way it was. That's what I wanted, right? The confusion and chaos within me would have to wait to be sorted out for another day. Healing up was priority number one. When that was finished, I would try to figure out what was the next step to take; One in the life I had before, when I had work to distract me from everything, or one in the life I had now, distracted by him from everything. Till another day, I thought to myself as I shut the door and headed back to bed.


	3. New Vision

The next few days were a blur. The endless hours of sleep only interrupted by my need to eat and replace the bandage with a fresh one. I've always had a nagging thought, while nursing people all these years, about how it would be nice to have someone else take care of you when you were injured so you could just rest and have a moment of peace, but only now do I realize I would never wish that on anyone; It's dreadfully boring.

After two and a half weeks, I could barely see the original tear beneath the stitches. Standing in front of my dirty bathroom mirror, I could see my ragged reflection. My head had a rat's nest appearance, and my face was slightly ghoulish but that wasn't anything I couldn't fix. It was time to go back to work, I was done wallowing around in misery, waiting to heal. I could finish that process while I busied myself in doing something productive.

Attacking my hair with a comb, I attempted to get my mane in check. Then I shimmied into my uniform, flattening out the front one last time, slipped on my coat and threw my messenger bag over my shoulder as I went out the front door.

After I locked it, I turned around and hesitated. Forever more will the memory of Mr. Jenson's reveal haunt this hallway. Nothing looked different really, the walls still peeling slightly, showing hints of the building age. The light two down from the elevator was still blinking on occasion, and the air still smelled of the usual dewy must, but it felt different. Things I would have never seen before if I hadn't known it occurred now seemed painfully obvious. The slightly roughed up edge of Mr. Jenson's flat keyhole, or the tiny hole on the door frame of the stairwell.

I took a deep breath, pushed every thought about it out of my head, closed my eyes and forced the first step.

A few minutes later and I had hailed a taxi and was pulling out from the street below my flat. There was no way in hell I was going to walk today and just end up giving myself more time to reflect on everything that has happened in my life the past few months, good or bad.

When I arrived, it was raining. Great, just my luck. I hiked my jacket up over my head and made a stumbling run for cover.

The day flew by with a whirlwind of medicine calls, new patients and pounds of paperwork. Walking to the locker room I could see countless people in bandages with different stages of damage and couldn't help but think how many might be Matt's doing. There is no judge and jury in the medical world, we have to be impartial and save, or at least try to save anyone who comes through the door.

I pushed open the locker room's door and saw that it's empty. I groaned, almost missing the nonsense chatter that I hear on an everyday basis about who got what patient, or what new drama Mrs. McCarthy had to offer, the old lady who had been watching over her husband who has been on life support for a month now.

I flipped open my locker and gazed at its harsh grey lines. I had never been one to decorate it with pictures of family or friends. My coat from the morning hung lonely on the single hook, with my bag nestled into the bottom corner. I sighed, maybe it was time for me to put something interesting in here, seeing as I was trying to keep my mind preoccupied. I scooped the jacket, taking my time to stretch my arms through the sleeves, then grabbed my bag and shut the door.

"Hello there" a voice called from right next to my ear.

Speak of the devil. I stifled a scream as my hand flew up to cover my mouth, my eyes widening. Turning slowly I saw Matt casually leaning across the adjacent looker, his perfectly sculptured arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his lips with matching crinkles by his eyes.

"Whoa there" he continued, playing oblivious to what was out of the norm here, "Is that how you say hello to a friend?"

I continued to stare at him. I noticed a small cut that extended slightly past his t-shirts sleeve and a bruise forming on his right eyebrow. He had been busy. After what felt like a millennia, I forced my feet to turn around and walk in the other direction.

"Claire wait" he called after me, as I heard the shuffling of footsteps. I paused at the door, imagining him with his outstretched arm and a longing face, begging for me to stay. I laughed quickly, thinking how we weren't that much different. We say we want or believe one thing, but still end up doing the other. He said he was too dangerous for me, but he couldn't seem to stay away, and as for me, I say I'm done chasing after and putting all the effort, but my pull towards him is undeniable.

I turn slowly, keeping my arms tight at my sides. I looked up and catch his gaze, or as close of a gaze as he could give me. His crinkled forehead and slight pout shows me that he is conflicted. I try to imagine his view of me right here, right now. How his world on fire would portray this moment. As a mere blimp in our timeline that we might get over, or a whole other road forking off to start fresh, or as fresh as we could with the unquestionable history between us.

I waited for him to take the first move, but he seemed to be studying me just as much. Probably regulating my heartbeat, the amount of heat my body was giving off, my breathing patterns. All of a sudden it's just too much. I feel invaded. I spun on my heel again, but this time I felt a warm, strong hand grip my wrist. Not tightly, but firmly.

"Claire" he repeated, much softer this time, just above a whisper. "Can we talk?"

I hung my head and focused my eyes on my shoes. "There isn't much I want to say to you." I paused for a moment. "Is that all you came here for? To talk?" I can't help it, my voice is rising as I get more frustrated. I know that I am an open book right now, but to hell with it.

"Please," he pleaded, his voice getting gruffer as his volume decreased, "then just hear me out."

He waited, probably hoping for a response. When none was given, he gently tugged on my wrist, but enough that it spun me around so that he could place both his hands on my shoulders, turning me to face him. I could feel his breathe on the top of my head, so I knew he was facing me but I couldn't lift my head up yet to look back because I didn't think I would be able to hold it together. I'm was trembling now.

"If not to listen, let me show you something instead" he breathed. I chanced a glance up, but I became stuck, mesmerized by his almost perfect face. Despite the bruise on his eyebrow, and tiny white scar on his lip, his skin was a beautiful color, like the perfect balance of milk and honey. It almost seemed to glow slightly. His recurve bow of lips looked so soft and pink, seeming almost out of place for a man with such a harsh reality. Surrounding them was his soft stubble, a hint that he hadn't had time recently to take care of the normal personal needs. Probably had been caught up in some business that I definitely didn't want to know about, I chided myself.

I could feel my resolve starting to flake away with every second and within the next moment I was letting him trail me out of the locker room and down the hallway. We made our way to the stair well at the end of a few turns and started to head up.

"That should have been locked…" I trailed off, just momentarily letting my eyes linger on the door as we started to ascend. By the time we made it to the roof, I was glad that I had had enough time to grab my coat because the wind chilled my body almost instantly. I hiked it up over my shoulders and wrapped my arms around myself, looking around. Matt strolled over to the edge and looked out into the distance as if he was waiting for something.

"So what are we doing here?" I asked, slight irritation underlining my words turning them somewhat toxic. I was annoyed at him and his mind games, and at myself for letting him pull me along through this with my emotions, mind and body. Any and every way he would have been able to get a reaction out of me, he had with something as little as a smile.

We stood in silence for a few minutes when he finally spoke.

"Fear" he stated so determinedly that I looked up at him in surprise. "Fear, pain, anger…I hear it all. I feel it all."

I took a few tentative steps towards him, my mood changing to a more wary one. He closed his eyes and tilted his head down, that worried look that I've come to know all too well started to spread on his face.

When he spoke again his voice was deep with a past agony. "When I was a kid and had the accident, I was scared, I was angry and I was in pain. The fact that I lost something so valuable at such a young age struck me as wrong. It got me thinking that about what I had done to deserve it. But it always came back to the truth that it was an accident and I made a choice."

The world seemed to have gone silent, as if it had been put on pause just for this moment.

"Now," he gestured to the city below, "ever since I met Stick and was able to hone my other heightened senses, I've been able to see the world and a whole new way."

I was by his side now, looking down the street in front of us. It was lined with skyscrapers whose brilliance, from the light of the dying sun reflecting off the windows, made it look like the whole city had been set on fire.

"Every second of every day, I'm tuned in with the world around me, but that's the good with the bad. When I hear the scream of a child being hit by an abusive parent, or a robbery with shattering glass and gun shots, I can imagine the scene so vividly it's as if I'm there witnessing it."

I shuddered. Just the thought of being haunted by any event like that sent shivers right down my spine. I was used to helping pick up the pieces or clean up the aftermath of such scenes, not help stop or prevent them.

He turned towards me now, his presence overbearing, demanding my undivided attention. I faced him and looked directly into his eyes.

His brow furrowed, pleading with me to understand. "If you heard, or knew the things that the world couldn't see, all the things being done in the shadows or behind closed doors, wouldn't you want to do something about it?"

My mouth parted but no sound came out. It was if I was incapable of getting my mind to match with my mouth, or my windpipes for that matter because I was finding it difficult to breathe suddenly.

"If you had the capability to do something about it, wouldn't you believe it was your responsibility to do so?" His eyes closed and his mouth parted slightly in a moment of peace. "And if you did so," he breathed, "would that make you a hero?"

He turned so suddenly that I took a step back. Striding over to the corner of the building he stopped and put his hands in his pockets and I saw the infinitesimal difference of his posture as his shoulders dropped ever so slightly into a slouch. His t-shirt hugged his back, exposing his beautiful curves and carved out shoulder blades.

"And you know what they all say," he huffed. "The hero never gets the girl. It's all about the sacrifice. Can't have everything, the universe isn't that fair."

I stood frozen, not because of the cold air or the wind but rather by his words. Slowly, I inched towards him, step by step. When I stood right behind him I hesitated for just a second, then whispered, "Then let's be the exception."

He pivoted so slowly that I thought time had slowed down. My senses seemed to heighten as I started to notice every detail and could sense the almost tangible charge between us. I couldn't help but feel a sudden connection of understanding about his way of experiencing everything.

Slowly, his hand reached up and cupped my cheek, which I nestled into, closing my eyes in a moment of bliss. A feeling of déjà vu swept through me, but then the change that I had been hoping for last time made its way to reality as I was brought back to the moment by the soft touch of his lips on mine.

The sweetness engulfed me, his warm lips pressing against mine seemed to warm me up from the inside out. His other hand had gone behind my head and he held me there, poised in the perfect moment, like a neoclassic sculpture, meant to portray the image of passion for all eternity.

Too soon he pulled back, but kept his forehead pressed to mine. I could see a smile form in my periphery and then heard him say, "You're too good for me Claire."

I laughed, "And you are the literal devil of Hell's Kitchen , so are we even?" I challenged.

If his eyes could have truly met mine, they would have in that moment for I swear I could see something almost spark up in them. He pulled me in tight, as if, if he let go I would change my mind and leave, but there was no chance of that. Any doubt that I had had brewing in my mind over the past couple of weeks or months vanished with the fierceness of our embrace.

One hand wrapped around his back and gripped his t-shirt in a knot as the other climbed up his torso, to his shoulder, then back of the neck and finally into his slightly unruly hair, wringing my fingers in the loose locks.

Our lips were crushed together with a sudden passion as to make up for all those denied moments, to make sure it was real and to make a promise that it would last. I could feel his hands sliding down my sides and come to rest on my hips. He pressed one palm to the small of my back and soon my hips were thrusted against his so that I could feel his erection through the fabric. Shocked, I pulled up for air, searching his face for any sign that this was as much of a surprise to him as it was to me, because for months I had dreamed of anything progressing and he had almost made a conscious effort to avoid anything that led in that direction.

He didn't wait a second, as his mouth nestled in my neck and made a trail of kisses down to my collarbone, each one sending little sparks of pleasure running through my body. I moaned slightly and could feel him smile in return against my sternum. My hands kept ruffling his hair with clenching and unclenching fists.

"Take it easy Claire," he teased, "we are still just above the clothes. Wait till things get interesting. It's so much better when I get the hands-on experience."

My eyes snapped open. I had not been ready for that amount of tantalizing play from him so early on. I guess he had wanted it as much as I had for some time now, it was only a matter now of following through.

He pried my fingers gently out of his hair, slipped one in his hands into mind and led me off the top of the hospital's roof to what I hoped would be a much more practical setting.


End file.
